beastblood
by scntlla
Summary: Marianne has a secret that Claude is dying to figure out. She doesn't know how to explain to him that some things are better left unsaid.


"Everyone has burdens," Claude said. "You're not the only one, Marianne."

"I know."

"You can always tell me, Teach, or anyone else for that matter, about what's going on in that head of yours."

"I-I could say the same to you…"

"Yeah, but unlike me, you don't drop charismatic—or even _non charismatic_—hints about what's troubling you. Regardless of the circumstances of your birth, social standing, or ability...you have a right to tell others your worries. And we have a right to listen."

"If only it would be as easy as you make it sound...b-but I'm afraid it's not that simple."

"Fine, fine. I'll stop bothering you about it for now. But just keep it in mind, okay?"

Then he left her, as he always did, but she knew he would come back. Of all the people in the Golden Deer house—no, of all the people in the Officers Academy _entirely_—Claude was the only one that insisted on delving deeper into Marianne's obvious turmoil. Most others would just try to console her seemingly inconsolable despair, but he wanted to go further than that.

He wanted to dig up her roots.

Yet as much as it pained her to do so, Marianne would have to continue being herself as always, and be ever unyielding—dirt and all.

.

.

"It's dangerous," she warned him. "I-I'm not...a _good_ person, Claude."

"Well, fortunately, you can't decide how others view you." His lips curled up into a smile. It was his usual smile that everyone had gotten used to: easygoing, slow, never reaching his eyes.

She wished it would.

"You don't understand," she lamented. "I wouldn't be s-so worried over something trivial, anyway. I'm serious about this."

"And so am I. People care about you, y'know? Wouldn't do them or yourself any good to keep on keeping on like this," Claude sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. "I'm obligated to worry about you, but to be very honest, I'm just curious."

"About what?"

"About how you always seem to have bloodstains on you, even when we're not in battle."

Marianne huffed quietly, and turned her back on Claude. "Y-You must be imagining things…" she murmured. "Someone such as myself...isn't _nearly _that interesting."

.

.

She remembered the way that Professor Byleth looked at her. The professor always had ways to make people bend for them, because even the most rigid people like Felix or Lysithea conceded in their presence. Foolhardy spirited types like Raphael and Caspar had no choice but to be serious when it came to them, either. Even the oddballs, like Linhardt, Bernadetta, and Mercedes were on the straight and righteous path if Byleth wanted them to be.

With Marianne, she felt that Byleth was so close to the truth, and just steps away—_moments _away—for unravelling her to threads with those bleak, blue eyes of theirs.

Even when the blue eventually brightened into green, she still felt (and _feared_) that way.

.

.

The monastery was in chaos. First, Flayn goes missing, then several students turn up seriously injured or even _dead_. Although Seteth's little sister remained unharmed in the end, no one could deny that the injuries of the other victims were grave and unusual. Lacking color in their faces and movement in their bones, surely this was just the work of the Death Knight.

At least, Marianne did everything in her power to make them believe so.

.

.

The time of the year in between Wyvern Moon and Red Wolf Moon was a peculiar time. The moon itself went through many phases, and Marianne's heartbeat rose everytime night dawned on them. She felt her blood run faster, higher, brighter, and her vision swam with weird colors and strains that made her struggle for balance.

She avoided the dining hall all day, but at the crack of midnight, she gave into her hunger, and skulked over to the building—the paths dimly lit with overhanging lanterns and even then, they were sparse. The light cast shadows over the ground, but Marianne was not afraid of the darkness.

If anything, she welcomed it.

No sooner had she grabbed some food from the pantry (hoarding blocks of cheese, slices of bread, and other parcels of food in her arms made her feel like a raccoon stealing away into the night), she dashed outside, with the full intent of hiding in her room and staying there for as long as possible.

Instead, Claude stood in the doorway of the empty dining hall, his silhouette lit from the bright lantern hanging outside of the building behind him.

Marianne dropped the food.

Claude stepped forward. "You're up late," he pointed out. "Midnight snack?"

"I...y-yes," she stumbled. "Yes, that's exactly it. I was hungry and wanted some food—"

"You weren't here all day, though. Did the crowds scare you?"

"Ye—"

"Or was it the general gathering of human life that did you in?"

She disliked the way he said _human, _because there was a slight emphasis on it that implied a horrific thought. A certain emphasis that somehow, Marianne was _not _included in that little descriptor of not only Fódlan, but the entire world around them.

She gripped her left arm with unmet force, willing her limbs to stay at this realization. It was Claude she was dealing with, after all. Any and all of her words would be used against her, especially if she misspoke. Words were difficult, socialization was her bane, but at times like this, Marianne counted on her desperation to pull her the rest of the way through.

"You're really strange lately," she groaned. "J-Just leave me alone, Claude…"

"As House Leader, it's my _obligation_ to make sure everyone is okay. And I thought I already told you that, obligations aside, I'm _personally_ interested in your little secret." He walked forward, and Marianne watched his every step, hoping she would find some sort of weakness in him as he moved.

There was none.

Her sight grew dimmer, and she closed her eyes against his blinding image. It did nothing to silence his ever-moving mouth, however.

"You can tell me. And in return, I'll give you a secret of mine, as well. How does that sound?"

"No secret of yours could possibly matter to me," Marianne said. "I-I really should just..._go…_"

He raised a brow, and she hated when he did that because it meant he was not as inquisitive, or _caring _as the gesture itself. It meant that he was _figuring _something out about her, parsing her faded image in his mind, dividing the parts of her into little pieces that he could dissect and compartmentalize however he wished. Even if there was a semblance of kindness in his voice, she trusted his words as much as she trusted his smile.

As if there would be trust in such futile things, anyway.

"I'm going," she announced. "Goodbye, Claude."

She ran past him, out of the dining hall, and felt relieved when he did not reach out for her, or even call her name as she fled. She kept running and running until she found herself in front of the green house, with the stairs leading up to the second story dorms in view. It was quiet and unassuming, since most people were asleep at present, and those that were _not _asleep had chosen to do something more useful with their time. Training in the training grounds, late-night studying in the library, fishing for the rumored Goddess Messenger when there were no crowds to intervene.

Marianne was not like those people at all. She was far worse. And as she trudged herself up the stairs to her room, she vaguely wondered if Claude was far behind her, or if he was taking his time to think back on their conversation. Even if Marianne never admitted to anything, she felt exposed. She felt like he won over her, somehow, and her life at the monastery (and in this _world_) would be over as she knew it.

Marianne slammed the door to her room on the way in, burying herself in the pillow.

Claude, meanwhile, stayed behind in the dining room, and inspected the food she left behind.

They both worried over the fact that there were bloody slabs of meat left behind, and droplets of blood following the trail of Marianne's reluctant heels.

.

.

"Marianne? What are you doing here?"

"Have you heard the story of Maurice?"

"You're talking about the Beast, right?"

"Yes, it's a rather old story."

"I'm well aware. So why bring it up?"

"What if I told you that it was real?"

"..."

"What if I told you that I know who the Beast is?"

"If you told me that, then I'd rather believe you than not."

"And if you believed me, then what would you do?"

"Obviously I'd ask about the Beast. And I would ask if the rumors are true: the rumors that the beast stalks a forest, and kills the people that go near it. Then I'd ask you if you could take me there one day."

"Is that so? I'm sorry, Claude. I don't know if I can do all those things..."

"It's fine. So, are you admitting that this is your secret? The fact that you know the truth about the Beast? About Maurice?"

"Yes."

"Well, I'm glad you finally told me. I'll make a promise here and now to not tell anyone. The only thing you have to do is listen to my secret in return."

"Is that so? I'm honored you would think that way. B-But before you tell me your secret, I wanted to a-apologize. I'm sorry, Claude. I'm so, so sorry."

_I just can't take any chances. _

.

.

On the eve of Red Wolf Moon, Garreg Mach Monastery was in an uproar. The number of injured, deceased, or missing students increased nearly tenfold, with the notable missing student from last year—the redhead Monica—being a part of the latter group. Edelgard and the other Black Eagle house members described her as cheerful, upbeat, but a bit strange. They never expected those qualities to do her in, and yet her lifeless body—strung up in the classroom banister, with the words "YOU LIED" written on her skin in blood—said otherwise.

Marianne sighed as she flicked her hand. The tiniest movement caused the dark red fluids to fly off her fingertips, spattering the wall in discrete patterns, staining the white into a drying red-brown. She was soaked to the bone, this time, and her face and arms suffered the worst of it. She looked unhinged, feral—like a beast that had recently fed. Like a monster that stalks foggy forests and darkened castles, causing people to disappear and resurface as cadavers.

She was done for _sure_. Even if no one could pinpoint the crimes to her, even if none of the other students or faculty could associate her with such gruesome events, her cover was already blown.

Dawn of the Red Wolf Moon came, and Marianne stole away before anyone noticed her. She took her most precious belongings: a spare uniform, a change of clothes, and notes on various useful magic spells she learned from the professors. Tucked into her boots were small daggers, one in each leather body, and a tiny, silver sword sheathed in a band around her hips.

Of course, the prayer icon of Goddess Sothis was essential, too, in spite of everything.

She squeaked by the gates, vaded the watch of the morning gatekeeper, and ran out from the monastery towards the town, just as the noise of horror and tragedy rose to a cacophony around her. There was no use drowning out the rumors, since everyone from small children to old biddies were squawking, absolutely devastated by the news that reached their ears.

Claude von Riegan, heir to House Riegan of the Leicester Alliance, was found brutally rendered and bloody in his own room. They said he received medical attention right away, but Professor Manuela of the Officers Academy remarked sadly that it seemed like a lost cause for the Riegan heir. Rumors spread about how it was another example of the Death Knight, or that somehow, the Black Eagles and Blue Lions plotted this attack on the Golden Deer. Even more rumors spread, far outside Garreg Mach Monastery and its surrounding town, about how the balance of power in the Central Church has been upset, and people are blaming Lady Rhea for being unable to prevent harm befalling the students.

Rumors, rumors, rumors alike spread throughout the town, and soon, all of Fódlan.

.

.

Days and days later, Marianne collapsed in the clearing of a familiar forest. The journey to get here was long and arduous, and she vividly remembered all the gossip, rumors, fears, and accusations she heard along the way. She was chased by knights, warriors, and sellswords alike, only to outrun their thirsty blades and questionable stares, and arrive in some other place where she was nameless, yet feared.

She heaved as the sweet woodsy air never quite got into her lungs the right way, with the moisture of untimely fog settling into her skin and going into her mouth. Something like static and fire surged through her just then, and she heard the whispers of a dying man echoing in her ears—the presence of shadow and blood which drowned out the world, and dyed everything a sickeningly mixed shade of red and black.

When Marianne came to, she was covered in blood, and the haunted blade Blutgang was at her side, replacing what was once a silver sword.

She laughed to herself, defeated, and cradled the sword in her hands, not caring if the handle was drenched in blood, not caring if the blade was too close to her face.

"Y-You were wrong about me, Claude," she whispered. Her hands were shaking again, and she felt the Blutgang tear into her skin as a result. "I'm not like everybody else. Everyone isn't like me, either. It's not a _burden_ that's holding me down."

"_**It's a c̼̬̃̈́̂̌̈u̱̪̱̳̼ͥ̑̃ͯṛ̺̰̰̥̀̂̑̈̒̒̉s̥̫̄̆e̤̰̠̠̻͎͑͜.**_"


End file.
